What Goes On Outside
by Nancy D
Summary: Did you ever question the sanity of the windmill guy? What if it turns out that that man is actually a genius in disguise? Well, here is the mind of Crazy Joe the Windmill Guy, and how he reacts to the rumors he hears outside of his windmill. It's so s


A/N:  
This fic is rather different for me. I usually don't write sad/deep stuff. Usually it's Happy Peppy! and that's just my personality! I don't know, I just LOVE the windmilly guy. My friend and I always called him Crazy Joe, so that's what I'm calling him in the story. Crazy people are cool, I guess. Oh! Once, we were going to lunch, and I got some hand sanitizer (I love Purell!!) and I asked my friend why she didn't, and she said, "I don't know," and I said, "You need hand sanitizer to keep your sanity," and she's like, "Ooh, that's good! That could be a commercial. Show a crazy guy, like eating his hand, and then it says, 'Purell tastes like crap, so if you put it on your hands, you won't eat them, therefore, not be crazy anymore!!'" Hahaha! I thought that was too funny! Oh well, it probably wasn't, but that's ok. We needed something a little light to kick off this story. (Don't worry, it's not angst! I despise angst, though I read it sometimes and flame the authors. I know, that's not right.) But anyways! Have a good night and a pleasant tomorrow! (Do I ALWAYS have to say that! Oh my wow!) Don't ask, that was just horribly stupid, not to mention irrelivant. Ok, so please read the story, and review. ::sings:: As we go on, we remember, all the times we, had together. As our lives change, from whatever, we will still be, friends forever. ::stops singing:: Ooh that song's so sad. Ok, enough of my endless horrible rambling, and on with the story!  
  
Disclaimer:  
I don't own Crazy Joe, Hyrule, or anything else that belongs to Nintendo and all their workers.   
  
~*~What Goes On Outside~*~  
  
~*~Chapter One: Inside~*~  
  
I don't know how old I am. I don't know what day it is. I suppose I could ask, but I can't remember which months have how many days, and what order they go in. I've been inside for so many years, I forget about the world around me. It's like I'm trapped in here. But I love it! I love how it goes around, goes around. The windmill is my life. If the windmill were ever to blow away, I would be nothing. I would stay here and die, and all that would be left of me is my music box, never to play music again.  
  
I stand here, day and night, just turning the little knob. People think I'm crazy. Am I? I don't know. The definition of crazy is too difficult for me to comprehend. Then perhaps that makes me crazy. I don't know. I try not to think about it too often. Though sometimes I run out of other things to think about, and I have to think about my sanity. I dread to think about my sanity. Because it makes me think that I'm growing crazier by the minute. But maybe I am. If I am, then I would know I was crazy, so therefore I wouldn't be crazy! It's a complicated thing, the mind. Complicated, and great! Without the mind, we would all be like animals. Animals, who have no feeling, no emotion, no thoughts. How horrible it would be to be an animal! We could not think human thoughts, and our minds would be so horribly simple I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear it.  
  
These are some of the things I think about every day as I stand there and play my music. No one comes to visit me. I hope and pray that one day someone will walk into my home and greet me. Spend time with me. Talk to me. How I long to talk. I haven't spoken in three days, for if I talk to myself too often, the people of Kakariko Villiage will think I'm crazy. But they already do, so what have I to worry? Now back to my sanity again! My thoughts go in this horrible loop. Anything I think about loops right back to my mind, my thoughts, craziness. I hate it I hate it I hate it!!  
  
At times like these, I just get so damn enraged that I don't think anymore. I don't know how it happens, but my thoughts just slow themselves, and all I know is the going around of the windmill, and the music. The music! That's why I'm here! That's my passion! It's the music! The Song of Storms. The boy taught it to me. That boy that made the wind blow so much, and whe windmill go around so fast that I had to play faster to keep up with it. That's when I first began to realize that I was going insane. I had been in that room for twenty-seven years, and THEN I started to lose it. After that day, I stopped keeping track of time.  
  
They say that the mind is a horrible thing to waste. Have I wasted my mind? Have I wasted my life by sitting cooped up in this gawdawful room for thirty plus years? Many people would believe that, but not me. Inside, I feel that I am perfectly sane, and I live my life the way God wanted me to. Unfortunantly, a great number of others beg to differ. I used to deny my insanity, but now I accept it with grace. It's not like I don't hear what's going outside. They nicknamed me Crazy Joe, and they are forever talking about me. There are so many rumors and stories that aren't even half true, I don't want to go into them. If ones life is labeled by others to be horrible, but one enjoys their life, would it be horrible? That is something else I tend to ponder while I'm standing alone, whiling away my life with the sound of music. Come to think of it, that's what I do. It seems I'm waiting. Forever waiting for something to happen. Waiting to die. 


End file.
